


Sweetie

by GrumpyJenn



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will River ever trust the Doctor enough to show him her damage?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweetie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [savvyliterate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyliterate/gifts).



Something was wrong. The Doctor could feel it; something was wrong with River. And when something was wrong, his first instinct was to poke it with a stick. A metaphorical stick of course, he wouldn’t poke River with a real stick, unless one counted his... he blushed, and then his thoughts began to circle about again.

There was something wrong with River Song.

It could simply be that she missed her parents, as much as he did, perhaps more; she had after all known them far longer than he had. And although he had been devastated at their loss and still had moments where he wanted to smash every bit of masonry he came across, he was far more accustomed to this sort of loss than she was, and... and this was not productive. He had to figure out what was wrong with River. She flirted with him, slept with him, had adventures with him.

But she never called him _Sweetie_. Or _my love_. She wore that broken half-smile he remembered from Stormcage more often than not. And it broke his hearts.

She neatly deflected every overture he made for anything but adventure or sex. Oh, he knew why in general - _a vulnerable side she keeps well hidden_ \- but he couldn’t _force_ her to show him what she kept hidden, could he? He considered it for a moment but shook his head. No.

But it was killing him to see her like this, and he decided that although he loathed asking for help, this time he had to. So he waited until River was asleep - she slept rather more than usual right now and that was worrisome too - and called for help.

“Voice Interface, come on. Not an emergency.”

“Goodbye, my thief,” said the pretty but bedraggled holographic image.

“Hello, Idris,” the Doctor said. “I have a problem. It’s River Song, she...” He found himself choking up at the humany wumany emotion, and the hologram smiled at him. “She’s so _sad_ ,” he said softly. “She hides it, but she is and I _don’t know what to do_. I can’t tell anyone else, it would kill Brian, and nobody else knows that Amy and Rory are living their lives in the past, and she won’t _talk_ to me Idris... and--”

“The Pretty One and Orange Girl _are_ ,” she said, “But my child cannot see. She strives to spare you pain, my thief. Go to her. I will help.” And the image faded.

River lay curled up on her side on their bed snoring softly, and the Doctor crawled into bed and spooned her body, breathing in the scent of her hair. “Oh my River,” he whispered, “I _miss_ you. You’re here in body but _my_ River _,_ she’s gone. _I want her back_... so much. _Please_ , so much.” And he fell into a deep sleep, deeper than was usual for him, arms wrapped around his wife in an embrace both comforting and protective.

River woke, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was. Such disturbing dreams, full of confused images of time and space, her parents, the Angels, New York, and an overlay of regret and sadness and _love_ \- oh, so much love - that she knew was from the TARDIS.

_(trustlovehope mythiefyourlove letgoandlethim)_

None of this was in words or even images, but it was clear; the TARDIS thought that River didn’t trust the Doctor, not enough to let go of her burdens, not enough to put some of them on his shoulders. The old girl wanted River to trust him to help her, when she was used to being the strong one.

River didn’t know if she _could_. But if the TARDIS wanted it, she had to try.

She turned over to face the Doctor, and he mumbled something that sounded like _my River_ but then he lapsed back into slumber. River wrapped her arms around him and snuggled close, resting her head in the curve of his neck under his chin. And eventually she fell asleep again, this time a healing sleep rather than the heavy yet restless sleep caused by depression.

 _Something is different_ , thought the Doctor immediately upon waking, and he opened his eyes to the sight of his wife, her head propped on one elbow. _Well_ , he thought, _I suppose the old girl can only do so much in a few hours_. But then River _smiled_ at him, truly smiled, not that lost half-smirk she’d been sporting for weeks, and she said the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

“Hello, Sweetie.”

 

 


End file.
